As a student at Pioneer High School, Min Hee
"Andy'' Kim had a yearning to serve his country in the military.

But, as a good son who wanted to honor his
parents' wishes, he enrolled at Purdue University after high school graduation
in 2004.

Thoughts of the military life wouldn't go away,
however, and by the second semester, he was in boot camp learning how to
be a United States Marine. After a few more months at the University of
Michigan in Dearborn, he was sent overseas.

His three best friends said Friday that while
they'll miss him terribly, they know he died at peace.

"With his belief in Jesus Christ, he knew he
had a greater hope,'' said Gabe Pak, his tennis partner at Pioneer. "He
wasn't here for the things of this world. He knew he had a reward in heaven.''

Kim was born in Maryland and lived in various
parts of the country. His family moved to Ann Arbor in 1996. He is survived
by his parents, Don and Mi Hea Kim, as well as his younger brother Isaac,
a senior at Pioneer High School. Funeral arrangements are pending.

His parents are taking the death very hard,
said David Shin, pastor of the Harvest Mission Community Church in Ann
Arbor, which Kim joined as a teenager.

"He was very young, and it happened very suddenly,''
Shin said.

Kim felt a sense of urgency about joining the
military, Shin said, adding: "I don't know so much that it was directly
related to the war on terror, but he wanted to serve his country.''

Kim was assigned to the Marine Reserve's 1st
Battalion, 24th Marine Regiment, 4th Marine Division out of Lansing. Shin
said he'd talked to Kim just two weeks ago, and he reported that his unit
had been going on patrols every day and the work was physically difficult.

All of Kim's close friends knew of his interest
in joining the Marines, Pak said.

"Whenever we talked about the future, he mentioned
wanting to join the military and wanted to serve his country,'' he said.
"That's really what he wanted to do.'' Pak said Kim's e-mails from Iraq
ended a couple of weeks ago, when he assumed Kim's duties there were becoming
more intense.

"The main thing about him is that he had joy,
no matter what the circumstances,'' Pak said. "No matter what he was going
through, or hardships, he was one of the most joyful people I met. He always
brought a smile to my face. Even in Iraq, he'd crack jokes and remind me
of all the good times we had together.''

Much of Kim's extended family has arrived from
out of town to support his family, Pak said.

"He had a way about him, Aramaki said. "There
was something about him that set him apart and made him unique from everyone
else.''

Aramaki recalled the time he was struggling
emotionally and called Kim just to talk. The two decided to drive around
town. Aramaki said that while he was in midsentence, Kim turned up the
radio and started singing loudly to one ridiculous song after another.

"That was exactly what I needed,'' he said.
"I didn't need to talk. He understood everything I was going through, and
he realized his friendship was what I needed at the time. And it was perfect.''

Aramaki attended a memorial service Thursday
night at the Michigan Union, where Kim's family and friends gathered to
remember him as a young man who was thankful for everything this country
had given him and wanted to give back in return.

Aaron Kim, who is not related to Min Hee Kim,
went to Purdue with Kim following their high school graduation together
in 2004. Though the two lived in separate buildings, they spent much of
their free time together.

"We'd go to the gym and work out because he
was getting himself ready to go to training camp,'' he said. "He wouldn't
push himself that hard, and I said, 'You're going to be a Marine ...' He
said when the time came, he would be strong enough to get through it; that
training would be no problem.'' Aaron Kim had his doubts, but his friend
proved him wrong.

"He was really diligent in everything he did,''
he said. "He always set goals, and no matter what it took or what he had
to do, he achieved them.

"We talked to him a lot about the military
being dangerous. But he was passionate about it. We didn't understand how
or why he had so much passion for it. We were kind of like, 'Are you seriously
going to do this?' By the way he approached it, we could tell this was
his passion and desire. There was not much we could say. The best we could
do is support him.'' Aaron Kim said that despite the sorrow at the "huge,
immeasurable loss'' of their friend, he doesn't feel anger.

"He brought a lot of happiness and laughter
in our lives,'' he said. "We feel blessed to have the time we had, and
we're all encouraged by his life.''
Wednesday, November 8, 2006Funeral services set for local Marine

Funeral services have been set for two local
Marines killed last week in the line of duty in Iraq.

Services will be Thursday for Marine Lance
Corporal Min Hee "Andy'' Kim, 20, a 2004 Pioneer High School graduate,
who was killed November 1, 2006, while conducting combat operations in
Al Anbar province.

Viewing will be from 3 to 5 p.m. at Covenant
Presbyterian Church, 5171 Jackson Road, Ann Arbor, followed by a Marine
Corps League memorial service from 6 to 7 p.m. The funeral will be from
7 to 8 p.m. with a reception from 8 to 9 p.m. Burial will take place later
at Arlington National Cemetery.

Two Marines Killed in Iraq Shared Early Desire
to ServeBy Arianne AryanpurCourtesy of the Washington PostThursday, November 16, 2006

Marine Lance Corporal Minhee "Andy" Kim and
Corporal Michael H. Lasky died young, but family
and friends said they died believing they had made a difference.

Both men were killed in combat in Iraq's Anbar
province. Kim, 20, of Ann Arbor, Michigan, died November 1, 2006. Lasky,
22, of Sterling, Alaska, died November 2, 2006.

Marines
carry the flag draped casket of Lance Cpl. Minhee Andy Kim of Ann Arbor,
Michigan,who
died while serving in Iraq, during funeral service, Wednesday, November
15, 2006 at Arlington National Cemetery

Yesterday, they were buried hours apart at
Arlington National Cemetery, where the sun occasionally broke through the
clouds and cast shadows over the rows of white headstones.

Mourners gathered before noon to honor Kim.
His parents, Dong and Mi Hea Kim, South Korean immigrants, wept as they
received a folded American flag.

Isaac Kim said his older brother was committed
to his faith and to joining the military. He wrote to a Marine recruiter
in elementary school but was turned down for being too young, news reports
said.

"He wanted to serve his country. He was thankful
for being a U.S. citizen, and this was a small way to pay back that gratitude,"
said David Shin, Kim's pastor at Harvest Mission Community Church in Ann
Arbor.

After graduating from Pioneer High School,
Kim enrolled at Purdue University and enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve.
He transferred to the University of Michigan at Dearborn last year after
completing basic training.

John Thomas, a gunnery sergeant who taught
Kim, remembered him as soft-spoken and committed.

"The first time I met him, I asked him, 'Marine,
why are you so quiet?' He replied, 'Waiting on the gunny to provide instruction!'
He had a quiet, reserved demeanor," Thomas wrote in an online guest book.

Family and friends said they are struggling
with the sudden loss.

"I think a lot of people were sad because he
died at such an early age," Shin said. "But at the same time, all of us
are really proud of what he stood for, serving his country and being a
faithful Christian. We know he was able to live a full life while he was
here."

Later yesterday, mourners gathered one grave
site over to honor Lasky.

He was assigned to the Marine Corps Reserve's
4th Reconnaissance Battalion, 4th Marine Division, based at Elmendorf Air
Force Base, Alaska.

Lasky's wife, Jessica, bowed her head as a
chaplain delivered the sermon before his flag-draped coffin. Lasky is also
survived by a 1-year-old daughter, Liberty Lynn, and his parents, Carol
and Donn.

Donn Lasky, a Navy veteran, said his son always
wanted to join the military, but it wasn't until junior high school that
he became serious and entered a training program for youths who wanted
to become Marines.

He attended Kenai Alternative School and wrestled
and played football through Skyview High School in Soldotna, Alaska.

"He played linebacker at 125 [pounds], if that
gives you any idea of his mentality," his father said.

After his first tour of Iraq, Lasky returned
to Sterling for seven months. Family and friends said his demeanor, and
his decision to help train young Marines in his home town, demonstrated
his maturation.

"Growing up, he was less than, shall we say,
an altar boy," Donn Lasky said. "That lasted until he joined the Marines,
and then it was a 180-[degree] turnaround."

Lasky volunteered for an elite Marine reconnaissance
unit that deployed to Iraq this fall.

Jessica Lasky said that she kept in touch with
her husband by e-mail and that it sounded like he was doing what he loved.

"He loved his family, his community. He loved
being a Marine, and he loved his daughter the most," she said. "He wondered
what was the best for his family, and in his heart he believed that fighting
in Iraq made it a better place for us to live here. He said, 'This is my
job, and I have to do it.' "

Kim and Lasky were the 274th and 275th service
members killed in the Iraq war to be buried at Arlington.
Marine mourned Andy Kim's burial at Arlington is fitting,
family says

Two weeks earlier on an ordinary Wednesday
afternoon in Michigan, three Marines and a chaplain arrived at the Kim
family's Ann Arbor home.

When 17-year-old Isaac Kim answered the doorbell,
no words were necessary. He let them in, then called his mother, who was
shopping at Kroger.

"Mom,'' he said. "Can you come home?''

"Why, Isaac?'' asked the soft-spoken Mi Hea.

"Come home,'' he said. "There are Marines here.''

She hung up and called her husband, Don, at
his Korean foods import office in New Jersey. Don told her to stay strong,
and to get home safely. Then he called Isaac.

Let me talk to the Marines,'' he told his son.

Captain Mabel Balduf took the phone.

"Where are you?'' the officer asked. "Are you
driving?''

"What's wrong?'' Don responded. "He is gone?
He is gone? He is gone?''

"Yes,'' she said. "I regret to inform you ...''

Isaac was listening from the living room. The
phone call made it official. His big brother and only sibling was gone.

A path to the Marines

Don and Mi Hea (pronounced "Me Hay'') Kim met
in college in Korea and married 24 years ago. Then Don got his student
visa to attend the University of Pennsylvania and she stayed behind for
a year. While living in Korea, Mi Hea suffered four miscarriages.

After they moved to the United States, they
conceived a fifth time and prepared for more disappointment. But this time
they would joyfully welcome their first child, a son they named Min Hee.
Andy became his "American name.''

Because it's mandatory for Korean males to
serve two years in the military, Andy's birth in Maryland was a relief
to his Korean relatives. Now he wouldn't have to become a soldier.

The Kims agreed: A volunteer army was one of
the many good things about being an American.

Then came the day that Don found a letter from
the United States Marines Corps addressed to Andy. It said, in effect,
"Thank you for your interest in the United States Marines. Call us again
when you're 18.''

He was 12.

"I said to him, 'Why didn't you ask me about
this?''' recalled Don.

Andy told him he was sorry, but he was sure
about it. He wanted to be a Marine.

They didn't talk much about it for the next
few years. Andy enjoyed hockey and tennis, as evidenced by the many trophies
on display in the small bedroom he'd painted Marine green.

During his sophomore year at Pioneer High School,
friends introduced Andy to the Harvest Mission Community Church, which
meets at Angell Hall on the University of Michigan campus. He became a
strong Christian, whose faith would mean everything to him from then on.

But nothing changed his mind about joining
the Marines. When he was a high school senior, he invited a recruiter to
the house.

His parents tried to reason with him. He could
be sent to Iraq, where he could be seriously injured or killed. Is that
what he wanted?

He wanted to serve his country, he said. No
matter what.

said, 'Why?''' recalled his mother, who
sometimes uses an interpreter. "'To wear the uniform? You've been watching
too much movie.'''

"I want to hear the reason,'' his father said.
"Then I can allow it.''

"I was born in America,'' Andy replied. "It's
an appreciation of where I was born. I want to pay back.''

"I like America, too!'' his mother interjected.
"But not that much!''

She said there were lots of other ways to serve
one's country.

"Everything else is an excuse,'' Andy told
her. "The Marines are the best way.''

And what if he ended up in Arlington Cemetery?
his father asked.

"That would be honorable,'' the son replied.

While a college student, first at Purdue and
then the University of Michigan in Dearborn, Andy Kim enlisted in the 1st
Battalion, 24th Marine Regiment based in Lansing, the largest Marine Reserve
deployment in Michigan.

His pastor, David Shin, suggested that as a
college student, Andy should consider becoming an officer.

But Andy had already switched from engineering
to infantry.

"He said, 'I want to be with my fellow Marines
on the front lines,''' Shin said. "He said he wanted to experience what
it meant to be with them before he led them.''

He trained in San Diego during the summer,
and was deployed to Iraq in late September.

When he was leaving, Andy told his mother,
"The time goes by fast. I'll be back before you know it.''

"I said to him, 'Andy, I don't want to see
you on the TV news. I want to see you, OK?' He said, 'OK, Mom. Don't cry.'''

He used to buy her flowers on every holiday,
including Valentine's Day. Now he called home or e-mailed as often as possible.

In an e-mail to friends and family on October
1, 2006, Andy wrote:

Hey everybody. how are you all doing? We're
in iraq now right outside downtown fallujah where we'll be for at least
the next couple months. we're all very excited over here to finally get
to do our job, but definitely some anxiety floating around. we'll be hitting
the ground running when we get there tomorrow so there are many different
emotions running around. But so far, even though its been very hard physically
and mentally, i've been learning so much more about God and His word in
a tangible way. a lot of the things that we go through, talk about, and
do go very much hand in hand with what He speaks about and it seems to
come to life more. One verse thats been sticking out to me has been psalm
44:22. it brings an odd comfort that He calls us to die each day to many
different things, physically or spiritually. I need to learn more to take
my hands off situations, especially when i can't control who gets to come
home in one piece and who doesn't. thank you for your prayers. i'm really
grateful. Andy.

On October 16, he wrote: Hey guys. I have a
prayer request please. We lost our first two marines the other day. Lance
Corporal Heinz - he has a son thats 8 weeks old and a wife. Sergeant Babb
- he has a wife and a couple children. Thanks. Andy.

Around that same time, he called home, sounding
weary. It was the first time he complained.

"Mom, I'm really hot and tired,'' he said.
"I go out every day for most of the day, and I'm so tired.''

"Andy, sleep,'' his mother told him. "Sleep.
So you can stay alert.''

On October 28, 2006, his 20th birthday came
and went without word from him. They'd sent birthday greetings and were
awaiting a reply, which never came. It was unlike him. He would have known
his mother needed to hear from him.

"I think they worked him too much and too hard,''
said Don.

On November 1, 2006, four days after his 20th
birthday, while among a group of Marines on patrol in Fallujah, a bullet
pierced Lance Corporal Andy Kim's neck. "Hostile fire,'' they call it.
Two medics were there, but there was nothing they could do.

The Kims take comfort knowing he didn't suffer.

Andy had often prayed that his parents would
go to church, but they declined.

Mi Hea thinks back now on all those times with
regret.

"That would have meant so much to him,'' she
said, sitting in her living room, her voice breaking.

But after he went to Iraq, she did go to a
service once.

"Did Andy know I went to church?'' Mi Hea asked
Isaac.

The younger son nodded. "I e-mailed him about
that. He wrote back that that was awesome,'' he said.

"You're sure?'' she asked.

"Yes,'' he said. "He said it was awesome.''

As she spoke, Mi Hea held the three possessions
the Marines had sent in a red velvet pouch: a crucifix, his dog tags and
a Timex watch, still ticking on Iraqi time.

Someone suggested that she place the crucifix
in the casket with Andy, but Mi Hea knew he would have wanted her to keep
it.

"I think Andy gave it as a gift,'' she said.

Coming home

It was raining on the night of Tuesday, November
7, 2006. As voters across the nation headed toward the polls, the plane
carrying Andy Kim's body landed at Detroit Metro Airport. Two Marines climbed
into the cargo hold at the rear of the plane, removed the casing protecting
the casket, and draped a flag over it.

Clayne Frazer, funeral director at Muehlig
Funeral Chapel in Ann Arbor, stood waiting on the tarmac with the Kims.

First off the plane was the passengers' luggage.

Then, the casket.

At the first sight of it, Mi Hea collapsed
to her knees.

"I do this every day,'' Frazer later said.
"But it put a lump in my throat to see the family's reaction. I have a
9-year-old boy. I can't imagine seeing my son back from Iraq in a flag-draped
coffin.''

A police escort led the short procession back
to Ann Arbor, where police had blocked intersections along the route. The
Kims later said they were surprised, and honored.

For us?'' Mi Hea asked quietly.

That night at the funeral home, the family
viewed the body in a private room. Andy was clothed in his Marine dress
blues, his white collar covering where the bullet had entered his body.

The body lay in state the next day, but the
Kims could not bring themselves to go back.

During a private family viewing before the
funeral, Mi Hea stroked her son's hair, straightened his suit and kissed
his face. On one side of the casket sat the official military portrait
of the lance corporal looking every bit like a serious and tough Marine.
On the other side, a happy and relaxed Andy smiled from his high school
senior picture.

About 500 people showed their respects during
a six-hour visitation, Marine ceremony and funeral on Thursday, November
9, 2006. A slide show of fun times with his friends, and a video clip of
Andy speaking at church, helped those who didn't know Andy - including
about 50 Marines of all ages who had come to pay their respects - feel
as if they did.

The mourners wept as the family hugged Andy's
body before the casket was closed for the last time. Still, it wasn't time
for a final good-bye. That would have to wait another six days.

Burial at Arlington

About 10 percent of the troops killed in active
duty are buried at Arlington National Cemetery, which sits across the Potomac
River from the nation's capital. The military leaves it up to the families
to decide where a fallen soldier is buried. For the Kims, the choice was
obvious. Andy had said it would be an honor to end up there, and so that's
where they would take him.

Fifty-two friends and relatives flew or drove
to Virginia for the burial. They all wore black.

At the gravesite ceremony, Chaplain Ron Nordan
told the mourners that Andy was among an "extraordinary group of men and
women who have voluntarily stood up and raised their hand to serve their
country, not only to fight for our freedoms, but for the freedoms of all
people on this earth.''

"Even given the end that we know today, if
he had to choose to do it all over again, he would have done the same,''
he said. " ... Today we honor him for his sacrifice.''

After a squad of seven Marines fired their
rifles three times in succession, a bugler played the sorrowful notes of
taps.

When Maj. Gen. Douglas O'Dell walked over with
the flag and knelt down before Mi Hea, she broke down as he spoke quietly
in her ear, one hand on her shoulder. Accepting the flag, she leaned her
head on his shoulder, sobbing.

It was time for the family to say their final
good-bye. Mi Hea cradled the casket, then asked an officer on which end
her son's head laid. She then rested her head there awhile, stroking the
wood.

Andy was the 3,061st soldier killed in Operation
Iraqi Freedom and the 274th to be buried at Arlington.

Andy's grave was first in a new row in a section
reserved for those killed in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring
Freedom-Afghanistan.

By the end of the day, another family had buried
their Marine in a grave beside him. A third hole had been dug for the next
day's burial of a U.S. Army soldier killed in a helicopter crash.

Andy's friend David Yon, an eighth-grade teacher
in Saline, chaperoned a class of eighth-graders on a visit to Arlington
last spring. He never thought a close friend would be buried there.

The understanding that Andy is a part of that
proud legacy seems right, he said.

"I can see him fitting in perfectly in that
spot,'' he said. "It's totally him. It sums up who he is as a person. I
look forward now to the times I'll get a chance to come with the eighth-graders
back to D.C. and have that opportunity to remember him every year and also
share with my students the type of person Andy was.''

Forever in their hearts

After the burial, the dozens of mourners piled
into rental cars and headed for an elegant Korean restaurant for a big
lunch, courtesy of the Kims.

Two tables were filled with relatives, who
ate quietly. But there was much chatting at the tables of Andy's young
friends, who shared their memories of him. Their laughter was a reassuring
sign that as much as they'd miss him, life goes on.

Andy was one of a group of six best friends
who called themselves "The Asian Invasion'' in ninth grade, and now "The
Homeboys.''

Now reduced to five, the group posed for pictures
with big smiles and hugs.

Then they posed for one more: This time, with
their adopted little brother, Isaac.

Mi Hea and Don watched, smiling. Isaac will
not join the Marines. That one thing, they say, is for sure.

After lunch, Sergeant Jesse Lake, part of Andy's
division in Lansing, who had been with the family through the whole ordeal,
took the Kims and their extended family sight-seeing in Washington. Eventually,
they made their way back to Arlington to see the eternal flame at the grave
of John F. Kennedy.

When Don turned around, he was awed by a sweeping
view of the cemetery, with the lights of the capital in the distance.

"I thought, 'This was where Min Hee wanted
to be,''' Don later said. "He thought it was honorable to stay in Arlington.
I'm proud of that. I think I was never proud that he was a Marine. Today
I felt proud that he was a Marine.

"In Ann Arbor, I thought, 'Why I have to lose
my son?' I asked God: 'Why him? Why him?' I never had an answer. Today
I'm proud of him.''

Until that day, Andy's relatives in Korea didn't
understand why Andy wanted to join the Marines.

"Now my sister who was here says she understands,''
said Don. "He was a real Marine. I thought he was just my son, but he was
a Marine.''

But later, as he sat in the airport
and watched the mourners preparing to leave Washington, the father had
another thought: How long will people remember Andy?

"How long?'' he asked, his eyes tearing. "Even
me. Sometime I'm going to laugh and enjoy myself and my life. I want to
remember him every single time, every single second. After I am laughing,
I feel sorry for Min Hee. That I'm lucky, and laughing.''

But he said he tries to remember one thing:
His son would want him to be happy.

"If I laugh because God make me happy, he's
going to like that kind of happy,'' he said. "I'm going to pray every day
for him. I'm going to go to church. Whatever he likes, I'll do it.''

On Tuesday night, Mi Hea had a dream. Andy
was hugging her, his head pressed against her chest. She wanted to see
his face, but he wouldn't move.

In the morning, before the burial, the Kims
talked about what that could have meant. They agreed this was Andy's way
of saying good-bye, with his head pressed to their hearts, where he will
always stay.